The Regency Romances of Mira Stables: Part One

by Mira Stables

  Now that she was safely set upon the road to freedom she fell into a fit of the dismals. Her action had cut her off entirely from family and friends. For the first time in her life she had only herself to depend upon, and she had no idea how long she might have to remain in hiding and still less about how to set about disposing of a valuable diamond necklace. That she might have to face worse difficulties, that her appearance and actions might attract the attention of the curious to a most uncomfortable degree, never entered her head. For most of her much vaunted twenty-three years she had occupied a humble station in life, inconspicuous and disregarded. It did not occur to her that for a young lady of obvious wealth and breeding, beautifully dressed but quite unattended and without baggage, there might be difficulty in remaining concealed for so much as a day, especially when the young lady was riding the Earl of Anderley’s Jackstraw, almost as well known in the district as his noble owner.

  Her thoughts dwelt wistfully on Gran and Aunt Clara, and she wondered how she could set their minds at rest as to her safety. But it must be several days before the news of her disappearance could reach them and perhaps by then she would have contrived some means of sending a message. And on one point at least she was perfectly confident. She had no fears for their well-being. Even in her present state of revulsion from her guardian, she judged him too proud a man to seek revenge for her flight on two innocent old ladies.

  Jackstraw, becoming aware of the slack hands on the reins, made a spirited attempt to snatch the bit and take control, and only her instinctive horsemanship saved the runaway from the final indignity of being run away with. At the same moment she felt a few drops of rain on her cheek and looked up in dismay at the lowering clouds. With so much else to think about she had taken no heed of the weather. The flurry of drops died away and she breathed a prayer that the rain would hold off for an hour or two yet, since she had no desire to arrive at the Rose and Crown soaked to the skin.

  She had made good speed in spite of her preoccupation. The turnpike road which cut across this distant corner of Anderley land was already in sight, deserted save for a solitary horseman riding slowly towards her. Some farmer on a fat old cob coming back from market, she thought idly, and then, heart plunging in utter dismay, recognised the rider. No farmer, but the Earl of Anderley’s chaplain, returning from one of his pastoral visits.

  Above all she must not arouse any suspicion. With racing pulses she rode steadily on. All was not yet lost. Certainly Mr Derwent would carry news of her to Anderley, and when the hue and cry was raised he would be able to give the pursuit a good lead. But no one would know whether she had turned north or south along the turnpike, and in any case it would take the poor man a couple of hours to reach Anderley, even if he tried to make haste. In that time, on Jackstraw, she could be miles away.

  She greeted the chaplain in friendly fashion, and though he expressed mild surprise at seeing her so far from home on such a threatening day, he did not appear unduly suspicious, merely enquiring if she meant to ride much farther since he feared the rain was now threatening in earnest. Just to the turnpike, she told him, thankful that there could be no question of riding in company. Jackstraw was already fretting impatiently, dancing and sidling as was his custom when kept waiting. She would have liked to urge him at once to his utmost speed but it was more important to ensure that Mr Derwent was out of sight before she reached the road, while to make off at a furious gallop would do nothing to establish the innocent nature of her excursion. So she held the fidgety Jackstraw to a strict trot, saluted the chaplain with her whip, and left him to resume his plodding homeward progress.

  The turnpike reached, she reined in and feigned admiration of a remarkably dull view in order to scan the countryside in all directions. Nothing moved. Mr Derwent had disappeared from sight. With a sigh of relief she turned her horse’s head to the north and indicated with hand and heel that he might now show what he was made of. He accepted the invitation with enthusiasm and fled down the grassy verge at racing speed. It was like nothing so much as flying, thought Elizabeth, the wild exhilaration of sheer pace momentarily drowning all other sensations. She murmured soft encouragement to the powerful black, and at the same instant felt the saddle slipping.

  It was one of his favourite tricks—puffing himself out when he was being saddled so that the girths were not taken up properly. Young Robert had not noticed, and she, in her distraction, had for once forgotten to test the girths. With every art at her command she sought to check the headlong speed and did indeed succeed in moderating it, but it was too late. She was completely off balance, and a sharp bend in the road accomplished the inevitable. The black veered to the right, the saddle slipped around under his belly, and Elizabeth was thrown clear. It was fortunate for her that a bed of tough, springy heather took the worst force of the impact. She fell on the point of her left shoulder, and at the same time took a stunning blow on the head from a boulder that lay hidden among the heather roots. It was some time before she struggled back to consciousness, aware first of fierce pain in her head, and then, as she put up a hand to investigate, that her shoulder, too, had suffered in the fall, while the force of it had thrust her deep into the heather where the sharp sprigs and protruding roots had torn her hands and face and then closed over her, so that in her present weak and battered state they were holding her a prisoner. A groan of mingled pain and helplessness broke from her as she realised the full extent of her predicament, and she struggled as best she could to free herself from her heathery prison, but the tough roots had actually pierced the fabric of her habit and were literally holding her pinned to the ground. Her efforts only made her sick and dizzy, and presently she subsided limply, a few tears of desperation trickling weakly down her scratched and dirty face.

  To add to her miseries it began to rain again, a steady relentless downpour which soon soaked through her habit and chilled her to the bone. She was not above fifteen yards from the road but only two vehicles passed, both southbound, their drivers well muffled against the rain, and her cries for help were lost in the clatter of wheels and hoofs. Soon the growing murk of dusk and overcast would make her invisible. She tried once more to pull herself erect, the better to call attention to her plight, but the useless struggle caused her such intense pain that she fainted.

  It was full dark when she roused again, but between pain and exposure she was only half conscious. There were lights dancing and floating in the darkness, and she fancied she could hear voices. She tried to call again, but the husky little croak that resulted was barely audible. She gathered her failing strength to try once more, and this time with better fortune. There was a sharp exclamation. She heard the clatter of boots on the metalled road and one of the lanterns moved steadily in her direction as a voice called out, “There’s something or someone here—I heard a kind of cry—but I don’t know if—” At which point the rescuer tripped over a root, put out a hand to save himself, and clutched a handful of wet velvet. A moment’s hasty inspection sufficed. Then a triumphant yell went up. “She’s here! I’ve found her.”

  Vaguely she was aware of more lanterns converging on her. The lights dazzled and hurt. It was easier to lie with eyes closed. A gruff voice called out something about sending a message to the other parties and someone stooped and tried to lift her. Pain shot through the injured shoulder so that she cried out, though feebly, and lapsed into insensibility once more.

  *

  She was aware of a soft rosy glow, and of shadows passing between herself and the source of this light. There was a murmur of lowered voices, and then one, clear and incisive, that compelled her attention even in her drowsy state.

  “She will do well enough now. Sleep will be her best doctor. Do you stay here with her, Ruth, and keep some of the broth hot against her awakening. I will go tell my brother and Lord Anderley that she is in no present danger.”

  Another, lower, voice made some remark that Elizabeth did not catch.

  “I had forgotten,” said the fir
st speaker. “Lock it away safely in my jewel box. Lord Anderley will not want to be bothered with it tonight. The purse you may leave on the dressing chest.” There was the sound of a door opening and closing gently, and then soft noises indicative of someone setting a room to rights—the chink of china, and the sound of water being poured away. Presently even these ceased, and save for the hiss and crackle of the flames, silence reigned.

  Elizabeth lay drowsily wondering where in the world she was now, but not greatly concerned. She was floating placidly on a sea of lethargy, and the snatch of conversation that she had heard had allayed some anxiety deep buried in her mind, even though she could not have said just what it was. Soothed, warmed and reassured, she fell asleep.

  Some time in the night she awakened to a greater awareness of her surroundings and a consuming thirst. She was lying in an enormous four-poster bed with the curtains drawn only part way round it so that she could both see and be seen. There was a fire burning on the hearth and someone wrapped in a shawl sitting beside it, someone who rose at the sound of movement from the bed and came softly towards her.

  “Art thee awake, dearie?” said a warm country voice. “Never fret. Thee’s safe and with friends. Thee suffered a nasty fall, and they carried thee here to the nearest shelter. See now, let me raise the pillow a little and then I will fetch thee a drink. Art parched, I vow.” She went back to the hearth and turned up a lamp that had been burning low. “I’ve some good broth here that will set thee up finely,” she offered. But Elizabeth begged for a drink of water and gulped it greedily, gazing with startled eyes over the rim of the glass at the vast chamber in which she lay. Never in all her life had she seen anything like it. Firelight and lamplight illuminated scarce a quarter of its length. Massive furniture caught the light and returned a gleam here and there from the shadows, and the one wall that she could clearly see was hung with a magnificent tapestry of a hunting scene, while the chimney piece above the cavernous stone fireplace was carved with some heraldic device. She had not thought that such apartments existed outside the pages of a history book. Eyes round as a young owlet’s, she held out the glass to be refilled and said timidly, “Pray tell me, ma’am, whose house is this?”

  Her kindly nurse smiled at her. “Not ma’am to me, child,” she said gently. “My name is Ruth, and I’ll be glad to have thee use it. This is Greystocks.” And as Elizabeth still stared at her blankly added in explanation, “The Marquis of Ecclesfield’s country seat.”

  That brought reassurance. She remembered the pleasant lad at the party who had squired her so competently and insisted that her guardian should bring her to visit him. Neither of them had expected the visit to be paid in these circumstances, but it was comfortable to feel that she had fallen in with a friend.

  Ruth was pouring broth into a bowl and insisting that she should try to swallow a little. It was easier to submit though she was not in the least hungry, and it was very strange to be spoonfed like a baby. Meekly she accepted almost as much as Ruth thought desirable, but was thankful to be allowed to sink back into the pillows and told to go to sleep again. As the motherly hands tucked the covers close about her she asked sleepily, “Are all the bedchambers as huge as this one?” And Ruth laughed at her and assured her that indeed they were not. This was one of the state apartments, but Master Hugh—for at times she was apt to forget her former nurseling’s present dignities—had declared that a lady with so royal a name must be royally housed. And on this encouraging note of homage she slipped over the borders of sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The week that Elizabeth passed at hospitable Greystocks never seemed quite real to her. She had a sense of standing outside herself, surveying her own activities with an onlooker’s detachment. For the first day she was aware only of her own aches and pains and the vast amount of trouble to which she was putting her host and hostess. By the second, good nursing and her own youth and resilience had largely mended the ailing body, and any idea that she could possibly be a nuisance had been laughed out of court. It almost seemed that the Marquis and Lady Ann could have no engagements of their own, so wholly did they devote themselves to the entertainment of their uninvited guest. When she protested that she was taking up too much of their time, Lady Ann assured her that she was a veritable honey fall, supplying the one amenity that Greystocks lacked—congenial feminine company. “Hugh told me that I should like you,” she said, “and indeed I do. I mean to keep you here as long as I can. When you are fully recovered there are a thousand things I want to show you.”

  From the appearance of the state bedroom it would seem that she had already made a good beginning. Its serene dignity had been sadly overlaid by all the clutter indispensable to the hobbies and amusements of lively young people. The invasion had begun respectably enough with books, periodicals and fashion journals. But when it was found that too much reading gave Elizabeth a headache, other entertainment must be sought. Ann, digging joyfully into the treasure house of her schoolgirl days, brought out shell work and brightly coloured papers for the construction of flower mosaics. Cards, chessmen, draughts and a backgammon board appeared—and took up residence. And when Elizabeth was allowed to get up and the Marquis was admitted to the feminine conventicle, the collection was further augmented by all the paraphernalia required by a fertile and inventive imagination for the tying of flies. Hugh had recently acquired one of the modern fishing rods fitted with a reel so that the line could be paid out or wound in as required, and though his sister assured him that any self-respecting salmon would turn in disgust from the current creation of tinsel and gaudy feathers, he only retorted cheekily that fish were possessed of a curiosity almost feminine, and would swallow anything, so it were dressed up pretty enough.

  The easy camaraderie between brother and sister was a new experience for Elizabeth, but so frank and friendly were their manners that it was not long before she was joining in the battle of wits and words on equal terms and generally giving as good as she got. So the days passed pleasantly enough, even gaily.

  It was only in the night watches when she could not sleep after the day’s unaccustomed idleness that her mind was troubled by the problem that had driven her from Anderley and that still remained unsolved, if not, indeed, further complicated by her own hasty action in running away. It was difficult to decide whether those at Anderley had discovered her true purpose. Certainly it was not mentioned the first time that Lady Hester and Mary drove over to visit her, and though their silence on this occasion might have been attributed to consideration for her invalid state, surely something would have been said now that she was definitely convalescent? She had fully expected to be taken to task and asked to explain herself, a prospect which made her feel quite sick. Instead, once Lady Hester was assured that she was well on the road to recovery, she had been mildly triumphant over so complete a vindication of her views on the dangers of riding alone, and clearly assumed that this reprehensible practice would now be forbidden when Elizabeth came home. She gave no least hint, by word or manner, that there might be anything awkward about that homecoming.

  Elizabeth took what comfort she could from the thought that there had really been nothing to betray her intention except the diamond necklace which now lay safely locked in Ann’s jewel box. If Ann thought it was an odd sort of thing to carry with one on a country ride she was too well bred to show any surprise, merely assuring Elizabeth of its safety and agreeing to keep it for her until she went home. It seemed probable that no one else except Ruth knew anything about it.

  On one point, however, Ann did not trouble to conceal her growing interest and curiosity. It had seemed natural enough that each morning should bring some small gift—a basket of fruit or a book or magazine from Anderley, though to be sure there were enough and to spare of such comforts at Greystocks. But it was not long before Ann noticed that though there was never a card or a note with these offerings they were always accompanied by one solitary yellow rose. It was apparent to the meanest intelligenc
e that there must be a hidden significance in this flower, and Ann would have dearly loved to know the secret. She took to covertly studying Elizabeth’s expression when she received the daily tribute, but Elizabeth had already schooled herself to an indifferent setting aside of the flower, and her reception of the gifts was polite rather than rapturous.

  Ann could only surmise that they must come from Timothy Elsford, perhaps already wearying of little Miss Bentley, and she was not at all sure that she approved, for though she liked Timothy well enough as a gay and amusing companion, she did not feel that he was a good match for Elizabeth. Yet the only other eligible male residing at Anderley was Mr Derwent, and though him she valued highly, he was not a man whom one associated with the more romantic forms of courtship.

  Elizabeth had been allowed to come downstairs and Lady Hester was beginning to drop hints that it was time for her to be thinking of a return to Anderley when Ann carried the square package into the Ladies’ Parlour one morning. Elizabeth glanced up from the journal she was reading and Ann fancied that her colour deepened a little, but could not be quite sure. She turned away tactfully, busying herself with collecting a scatter of rose petals that had fallen on the polished mahogany but hearing all the while the rustle of the paper as Elizabeth unwrapped it. Presently a puzzled voice said, “Look at this, Ann! Do you know what it is? For I’m sure I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  Ann looked—and drew a startled breath. Elizabeth was holding a curiously carved ball of green jade. With creditable self-possession Ann put aside the incredible revelation that had just been vouchsafed her and answered as calmly as her inner excitement would permit, “It’s a puzzle; a Chinese ball. See—it takes to pieces. And there is one key piece that holds all the rest together. We have one ourselves, made in ivory, that my grandfather brought back from his travels in the East. This one—”—there was the briefest possible hesitation as she swiftly changed the sentence—“Goodness! It must have been made for an Emperor’s son! See how beautifully it is carved, and how smoothly the sections fit together. It’s a real treasure. You lucky, lucky girl!”